No More Crumbs

I’m starting to see — truly see — how deep the narcissistic abuse from my mother went.

Not just surface-level neglect. Not just coldness.
But the fact that I was never actually loved.
Not for who I am. Not ever.

I was used.
As a pawn.
In a quiet, manipulative game of power, shame, and self-avoidance — her own avoidance.

And sometimes, even now, that truth slips from awareness.
I start taking out my old behavior on myself again.
I feel guilt when I’ve done nothing wrong.
I question my intuition, my choices, my boundaries — because she trained me not to trust myself.

But I’m not making excuses for it anymore.

It’s clear as day now:

The more distance I have, the happier I am.
The less psychological noise there is.
The more me I feel.

I know how susceptible my subconscious mind is when I’m near that kind of dynamic — because my nervous system was raised in it. Trained by it.

And yeah, there’s grief in that.
Grief that I have zero family left in any real sense.
But I’d rather have no family than live trapped in a system that keeps me doubting my worth.

You can keep your crumbs.
Bin them.
I’m not starving anymore.

I know this voice sounds defiant — even angry.
But underneath it is deep, ancient grief:
I’ve never truly had a family.
Not one person in my family system who ever loved me in a healthy way.
That’s a heartbreaking sentence to write.
But it’s the truth. And telling the truth is part of reclaiming myself.

No wonder I’ve found comfort in food.
In other things, too.
I’m probably 10–15kg overweight.
Still fit, still strong, still flexible — but carrying something heavier than just physical weight.

This is the emotional weight of not being loved for who I am.

I’ve carried it alone my whole life.
And I won’t shame myself for the ways I’ve survived.
Seeking comfort in ways that aren’t perfect but aren’t destructive — that’s not a failure. That’s self-rescue.

And yeah, I’m sure my mother’s talking behind my back. That’s nothing new.
Maybe she has people reporting back to her — I don’t know.
But this time, I’m not in it. I’m not directly affected.
No one from my old life is in my new one.
I’ve made sure of that. I’ve given myself that permission.

Earlier today, I was hard on myself for being drawn toward emotional unavailability again.
But even that — I can hold with compassion now.

Yes, I was drawn toward something familiar.
But I didn’t collapse into it.
I didn’t become someone I’m not.
I didn’t beg for crumbs.
I held my truth.

And maybe I still felt like a lost boy at moments.
Maybe I still wanted to make someone feel better just so I could feel accepted.
That part of me isn’t gone — but I can catch it earlier now.
And that’s what matters.

This isn’t the end of the pattern.
But it is the start of refusing to be ashamed of it.

This is what healing looks like:
Grief. Truth. Boundaries. Reclamation.

No more crumbs.